


Charcoal

by IdiotCrusader



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Corruption, Loneliness, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 07:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdiotCrusader/pseuds/IdiotCrusader
Summary: Talon insists Reaper fuses with Sombra to gain an advantage on the battlefield.It brings back some memories he'd rather leave alone.





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**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, what's up?  
> Life's been chaotic as fuck, so while I'm working on getting back to Be The Hero, have this little something from my archives.  
> A vague Steven Universe!AU with the touch of Transformers gestalts, but fusion mechanics are pretty much the only thing used. They're all still mostly human, while gems contain one's soul if you please.  
> Also, outrageous italic overuse. 
> 
> This might have a fix-it reaper76 piece as a follow up later.

“Now that Overwatch got Amari back, they’re gonna employ her fusion with Wilhelm Reinhardt again, no doubt. It only seems logical that we take some countermeasures.”  
  
Reaper is sitting on the examination table in Moira’s lab, clutching the edge with his claws, his brow furrowed unhappily under the mask. He doesn’t like the proposed solution one bit, and Moira would have to realise just as much.  
  
“No. Out of question. Think of something else.”  
  
“And why is that?” Moira clasps her hands on her knees. “Fighting a fusion with another fusion is a perfectly valid tactic, _Gabriel_.”  
  
Reaper growls. He despises her using his name like that - it isn’t even his anymore, and her tone… fuck her and her tone. She isn’t in charge. She can’t make him do anything.  
  
Unlike Talon higher ups.  
  
“It’s not like you’re unable to fuse. You’ve performed it successfully before with numerous members of Overwatch for mission’s sake, let alone with Morrison on regular basis, yes?”  
  
Yes, and it is  _exactly_ the reason why Reaper wants nothing to do with fusions now. Nothing at all. It happened, it is gone, it is better off forgotten. Never again.  
  
This is also the last thing he wants to talk about. Moira was never the kind and comforting doctor type, and even if she could magically develop some actual sympathy, Reaper would rather die _again_ than go for the whole “my last fusion attempt traumatised me for life and I haven’t done anything about it ever since” sob story. It’s all assuming Moira hadn’t figured it out already. The concept of personal details seems pretty damn vague with her. He still goes for the next reason down on the list.  
  
Thank God there are plenty. Isn’t that fortunate, now.  
  
“I am _corrupted_ , in case that somehow slipped past your attention!” He snaps, feeling his already unstable control slip.  
  
Moira is unbothered. She always acts like she has a spare life or something. As if she is invincible. Reaper is perfectly capable of lashing out and turning her smug smirk into a bloody mess in a matter of seconds - yet she treats him like something in between of a moody child and a lab rat. And he lets her.  
  
“Not exactly. Your gem and physical form have suffered some damage…”

To put it lightly. The explosion in Swiss headquarters left him broken beyond repair. Moira stitched together the pieces the best she could, but he could never be made _right_ again. No matter how much he tries, no matter what they do, Reaper keeps coming back as a monster. A malformed atrocity with an ugly face and hazy mind.

“Despite the setbacks, your condition seems relatively stable, thanks to scientific advances.” God, she sounds so proud of herself. “I would assume you could still fuse safely under certain… conditions. There are risks, of course. Whoever we pick as a partner would be warned to full extent if that’s of your concern.”

As if that would matter. Talon is plenty good at _using_ their assets as they pleased. They would force whoever they saw fit to do whatever they needed, anyway.  
  
“Unless the possible partners don’t tickle your fancy?” Moira smiles, calm, annoying. “I was under the impression you deal reasonably well with the team. Shall I suggest Sombra?”

Sombra… 

 _“Miss me?”_  
  
He doesn't even get to voice his objections. Reaper manages to hold back a flinch, but it’s a close call. He turns in one rushed motion, growling in startled irritation, to meet her attentive gaze. Sombra leans on the doorframe with a daring grin, waving her hand. Was she there the whole time, just waiting to make a dramatic appearance, or was it her translocator? Good lord, everyone’s so bloody extra around here. Reaper is too old for that, goddammit. He is just tired. Twice that, considering his own edgy persona.  
  
“I don’t remember asking you for a meeting.” Reaper gives Sombra The Look, she’s smiling back, and for a moment he’s so pissed off he almost forgets why she’s here.

“Aw, no need to be like that!” Sombra chides. “You could at least pretend you’re happy to see me! It’s not like I didn’t have to sacrifice my own free time to come here for you. You should try to  appreciate the gesture.”  
  
Reaper would tell her to shut up if he didn’t already know by experience it’d have zero effect. He turns to Moira instead to discover her already deep into experiment planning.  
  
“A somewhat questionable choice, Sombra’s not a face to face combat type, but the fusion may gain some of her quick wit,” she muses, gliding her fingertips softly across the surface of her gem to focus. “I wonder if the fusion will inherit the healing factor…”  
  
Moira herself has a beautiful gem, a double-coloured and clear shape embedded into her forehead. It used to be the pure fiery amber, that acquired the deep purple swirling inside it after her grand experiment on herself. Reaper remembers all that because he thinks of this day often. Moira has chosen to put herself at risk of irreversible corruption but came out safe and sound. Better. Victorious.  
  
Reaper never asked to be shattered, corrupted and twisted into this _thing_ , yet here he was. Because the person he trusted the most wanted him like this.  
  
“I never agreed to this.”  
  
They’ve clearly set all of this up before he was even called to the lab. Unbelievable.   
  
Not the first time something like this happens.   
  
“You are being unreasonable, Gabriel.” Here goes that cringe know-it-all patronising tone again. Or maybe he just perceives it that way because he’s stressed out of his mind and cornered. “While I would be delighted to offer you this purely out of a scientific curiosity, this procedure was requested by the command. I am to supervise and evaluate the fusion, or else there are consequences.”  
  
They both know she couldn’t care less about the orders herself, neither would Talon harm their brightest mind. She merely gives him a warning that could, if he squinted hard enough, be almost seen as _friendly_.  
  
Reaper doesn’t really hate Moira. Nothing personal, he just despises _everyone_.  
  
The worst thing about it is the fact that she’s right. He hasn’t been asked to fuse before out of pure luck. Maybe Talon leaders had better things to do or just never thought of this yet another way to mess with their favourite monster.  
  
Him. He is nothing more than a _toy gun_ , dangerous enough to lead missions and start one slaughterhouse after another, but denied of free will and dehumanised to the point he himself is not sure whether he’s a person anymore. Reaper makes a perfect subject for every other sick idea of theirs. Sometimes he gets a feeling that Moira of all people finds some of them unethical, and her sense of ethics is questionable at best.  
  
Ethics never stops anyone in Talon. Can’t exactly ruin something that’s already corrupted, right? Convenient all over.  
  
Pathetic, really. People fear him on the battlefield, and here he is, doing everything he’s told for the people he hates because he has no other options. What would Sombra think of that, when these memories seep through the fusion link? Or, rather, what does she think now. Reaper is well aware she knows about the way he’s treated too.  
  
He just doesn’t need to feel her disdain or, worse yet, _pity_ through the shared mind.  
  
_What would Jack say if he knew?_  
  
“You want a fusion, you go and get someone else!” He knows it’s a losing battle yet chooses to remain stubborn to the end, because of his remaining dignity, if he even has one nowadays, demanding as much. “Go for Akande, or Widow, I don’t care, there’s a fucking army of agents with perfectly fine gems ‘round here. Why bother with me?”  
  
“What’s with the arguing? Come on! I can play nice to you, I promise!” Sombra pouts, but Moira waves her off nonchalantly. Surprisingly, she does listen.  
  
Why doesn’t she ever listen to _him_?  
  
“Most of them are merely human. Talon doesn’t need you, as such. They want the skillset Reaper possesses. An experimental fusion that might gain some of those. I chose a partner that I assumed you’d be most comfortable with. In the end, they don’t matter as much as your abilities.” What Moira means is they want him specifically.  
  
Which means no way out for him.

Reaper frowns again, looking away. There’s nothing he can really say to that. He will end up obeying the order, be it the easier or the harder way. Not last because Sombra would probably have to pay for his decision to throw a temper tantrum as well.  
  
“Don't tell me you’re scared,” Sombra challenges, still pouting - her exaggerated manners do nothing but remind him how young she is.

He’s not scared.

He might as well _be_.

“Fine,” Reaper growls. A choice to consent to things or not is a luxury he’s denied nowadays. Might as well play it cool before Sombra gets ideas. “Whatever. Just get it over with.”

Sombra gives him a mischievous smirk that only aggravates him further. She acts like it’s no big deal, just a quick task to get done. Reaper figures she might think that way. Not every fusion means something, more often than not they’re just a tool for solving mundane tasks. Hell, he sees the lower ranked Talon agents running around fused every other mission. Fusion is a cheap tactic after all. Easy to set up. Never lasts long when there are no real feelings involved, but still a nice trick to exploit.  Who wouldn’t want to become stronger, faster, plain _better_ that easily?

Well, Reaper doesn’t. He’s fine - or, rather, outrageously _not fine_ \- as he is, thank you very much. He’d rather keep his privacy.  
  
The thing is, there’s plenty going on with his new body. It just doesn’t work right ever. Sometimes he wishes he’d be ill or crippled instead of corrupted. At least the ill ones get the good and the bad days. He has to settle on the bad side. The never satisfied hunger, the gnawing shivery cold, the _pain_ follow him like a plague. He can never focus, his mind is restless and hazy, and every time he comes back from the wraith form he takes a quick bet with himself what reforms wrong this time because there’s always something.  
  
Being Reaper is the worst possible kind of fun, he really doesn’t want to _share_ it.  
  
Especially not with Sombra. Moira said the fusion could numb some of the pain and take some of the haziness away, but he knows Sombra would still feel it. She knows already, of course, she knows too much for her own good about everything, but Reaper despises the thought of giving her a taste. He would never admit caring enough.  
  
But he does. He’s been pretty close with that _team_ of his, if you please. Especially with Sombra. A little too much care for her safely on the missions, a couple of words of unnecessary chit-chat after. It’s a weakness that he can’t control. Life’s been hell lately, and Sombra really reminds him of Jesse sometimes. Hard to resist, those urges.  
  
“Come on, we don’t have all day. Don't go shy on me now. Come on, it will be fine!” Sombra knows better than to grab him, but she’s clearly impatient. Almost anticipating. Curious.

There are _plenty_ of reasons why it won't be fine. 

Does it really matter?

“Before we begin,” Moira announces, “I highly appreciate your input into my research, even though the _volunteering_ part could use some work.”  
  
After that, Sombra steps out to take his hand. They start in a tense silence.  
  
There’s nothing intimate about this. Nothing graceful or natural, either. Reaper has been taught the process of technical fusion, just like many other soldiers have been for the sake of combat advantage. It’s not even a proper dance this way - a few practiced moves put together to serve a specific purpose, to synchronise two minds just about enough to join the bodies. Sombra clearly knows what she’s doing, and Reaper lets her take the lead.  
  
Jack used to take the lead, too. Ana and Jack were the only two people he’s had the actual fusion _dance_ with for decades until Jesse came to be the third. Reaper remembers each and every detail about them. The passion, the moves, the way it clicked perfectly.  
  
It’s so different now his body hardly knows it’s about to fuse - but his cracked gem is hot and radiant, so it’s working. He wonders if Sombra’s done it before. She pulls him closer in a nonchalant, business-only way, takes two steps left and waits for him to mirror, twirls them both around in a fluid motion, breathing calm and steady, and Reaper forces himself to relax and follow. In and out till they find a rhythm they can share.

He lets his eyes fixate on her gem - a drop of lovely electric violet on her cheek just under her right eye, neat and fitting - and his mind wanders, dissolving into the glow. 

The next thing he knows, he feels a forceful pull of their physical forms striving to morph together that he struggles not to resist. It doesn’t come easily, and for a second or two they are stuck in a confusing transition state, half-apart and unstable.  
  
And then, out of blue, the struggle is over and they are _one_.  
  
It feels… weird. Incomprehensive. There’s a brief moment of confusion as the fusion tries to regain some self-awareness and a longer moment of ache and vertigo. But they manage to keep from falling apart right there. It’s a tentative success.

Reaper makes a cautious attempt to prod at the bounds of his own consciousness and is immediately surprised he still has one for himself. He still knows he’s Reaper, _Gabriel Reyes_ , yet he is a fusion and he is Sombra at the same time. He really forgot what it felt like - but it wasn’t like that with Jack, was it? He never felt that distant and separate and _alone_ while fused with Jack, except that one time he really doesn’t need to bring up right now.

Stop it. Stop. Get a grip. 

Anyhow, they retain their own distinct minds now, it seems, which is not ideal yet expected. Sombra and he are neither lovers nor close friends, not close enough to truly become one - their fusion is unstable. But it holds together for now.  
  
Reaper blinks slowly, bringing his - _their_ \- hands up to their face for inspection. There’s four… or was supposed to be four anyway - one of the hands is malforformed, ending with a double-jointed stump just below the elbow. The other three do seem functional, on the other hand. Pun intended, Reaper figures.  
  
It’s not even _his_ thoughts.  
  
_O-oh… We’re nice and tall like that, aren’t we? Bet we’re nice and strong, too. Feels good, Gabe._  
  
_Don’t call me that,_ he thinks. _Shut up, Sombra._  
  
“We haven’t been together for one minute, and you’re already acting like I hacked your favourite coffee machine,” someone scoffs aloud, and it takes Reaper a second or two to realise it’s them.  
  
Their voice is deep and raspy, but undeniable female. Sombra’s presence is stronger than his own: they are a little lightheaded as a whole, true, but at the same time Reaper himself, as a separate entity, feels… out of it. Being fused is heady, it’s nothing like his wraith form, and he can’t quite get a grip on reality. The pain is still there, but it’s numbed.  
  
He doesn’t realise how much he relies on it to ground him.  
  
“Do we look pretty to you, Moira?” The tone, the attitude are so _Sombra_ , that Reaper gives an internal shudder. It’s wrong. It’s like he’s not even there. Those things, the blending of the appearance, manners and thoughts, should come as easy as breathing.  
  
They don’t.  
  
No one cares.  
  
“I suppose you could take a look yourselves.” Moira gives them a considering look before beaconing them closer. “There’s a mirror over there.”  
  
There’s no point in making this harder than it should be now, so Reaper relaxes as much as he can, letting Sombra control their body. They have fused already, the best Reaper can do is just play along. He may not like it… it’s a good thing he doesn’t feel much right now, then. Everything is muted. Like watching the lab through the thick glass and water.  
  
Walking is easier when they’re not struggling to each decide for themselves. Their fused body sways slightly before firmly planting its foot on the ground. They take a step, and then one more. Sombra is adjusting well, and Reaper just lets her take the metaphorical driver’s seat.  
  
“Curious.” Moira again. “The damage is indeed present, but it’s not as extensive. I would require plenty of tests before this fusion could be assigned to anything remotely related to combat, but the potential is definitely there…”  
  
She pulls away the curtain to reveal a large mirror.

They stand very still, staring, and their reflection stares back.  
_  
_ Reaper watches it, slowly skimming through the details. The fusion is moderately sized, bulkier than a human but hardly more than one and a half times taller. Broad shoulders, ambiguous gender, the muscles mixed with the elegant curves, and its skin is ‘resurrected wrong’ ashen grey just like Reaper’s but the hair is wild curls of Sombra’s trademark vibrant purple. Four hands, one of them maimed. An unexpectedly expressive smirking face - the ‘ugly and ridiculously beautiful at the same time’ type.

The teeth are still sharp and there are far too many eyes for Reaper’s liking, even for a fusion - it’s definitely taken after his monstrous appearance, but mixed with Sombra’s sharp and neat features it almost looks _intended_. A show-off, a special little touch instead of a flaw. 

Sombra’s purple gem is flickering right in the middle of the cluster of small almond-shaped eyes on the right side. Reaper’s cracked one, black and crumbling like a piece of charcoal, is embedded into the fusion’s neck. The dark mist inside the gem swirls in confused agitation. Everything feels out of place, and Reaper watches his own gem in the fusion’s neck, as the reality catches up with him ever so slowly.  
  
The fusion - it’s… it’s really _them_ , isn’t it?  
  
He takes a shaky breath, and it does, too. There is smoke coming off his shoulders and cheeks, and it looks just like Reaper when he’s too stressed to control his wraith form fully.  
  
_Then_ it hits him.  
  
He’s _fused_ , the first time since Jack, and his last attempt with Jack was their last desperate shot at working all of their problems out but it never helped, the fusion just went wrong instead and it hurt, it hurt so bad back then and it hurts now and he cannot breathe--  
  
And those _thoughts_ , Jack’s emotions and the anger, the pain, the blame through the shared mind, making him burn with guilt, wrecking their body apart till it hurts hurts _hurts, he’s sorry--_  
_  
Stop! Stop that, you’re ruining us!_

There’s nothing he can do. The explosion cracked his gem, but the damage was done before that. His whole being is consumed by the agonising memory. It’s so clear, so detailed, Reaper can feel every step of the fusion dance, the warmth of Jack’s hands, the rumble of his voice, every word of _rejection, the most sincere kind of betrayal and hurt that only a true love can convey and he deserved it for failing everyone, failing Jack--_

 _Shit, Gabe, it’s painful! Watch it!_  
  
There’s a loud crack, and they separate at once, both sent crumbling at the floor in a messy heap. Sombra shrieks in pain or surprise, Reaper doesn’t know. He’s too busy heaving for air, shaking all over and half-smoke. Moira is on her feet and ready to interfere when he finally manages to regain some pathetic scraps of control and push himself up.  
  
“What the hell was that?!” Sombra yells at him as he hastily retreats to the door.  
  
“Sorry,” he rasps, because Sombra is one of a few people that actually mean something in the never-ending nightmare he calls his life, and he never wanted to put her of all people through _that._ It’s just a memory, the real thing with Jack hurt _times_ more, but she didn’t sign up for his repressed traumatic memories anyway.  
  
Just a memory, Reaper chants wordlessly to himself like a prayer as he rushes off in his wraith form, lead by the burning need to get away from the humiliation of looking Sombra in the eye. Just a memory that can’t hurt him, but it _does_.  
  
He doesn’t want any of it. Doesn’t want to know he’s messed up that one and only time when fusion mattered so much, doesn’t want to long for the warm yellow _light_ of another gem that looked oh so magnificent on their fusion. Doesn’t want to be touched by Sombra or anyone like that again because it makes him _remember_...  
  
Reaper stuffs his malformed atrocity of a body into the vent, dissolving into the viscous liquefied smoke, curls tight around the most palpable thing about him right now, his gem, and _howls_ in delirious loneliness and anguish. He feels broken. He _is_ broken, and the only person who could mend the pain him took his light away.

Jack’s light is gone.

Without it, Reaper’s cracked gem is dull and lifeless and _fragile_ like a piece of charcoal.


End file.
